Generally, we tell our kids to call 911 if they ever need help. But one child took the lesson to a completely new level!
The child was experiencing problems with his homework, so he made the decision to call for help. Since 911 was the only number he knew, he took up the phone and dialed it. Is it true that the people listed on this number are ones that need help? Indeed. I think he was right someplace, too.
The operator who was answering began asking the standard questions. Following a lengthy period of miscommunication, the operator discovered that the child truly had difficulty with math problems.
The entire phone call they had is available below. We were really amused by this and laughed a lot. The YouTube video is also available at the conclusion of the article.
Operator: emergency 911
Boy: I do require assistance.
Operator: What’s wrong?
Boy: Using my arithmetic.
Operator: Using your lips?
Boy: Not using my math. I must complete it. Are you going to assist me?
Operator: Alright. What city do you reside in?
Boy: I can’t do the math.
Operator: You’re right, I understand. But where do you live?
Boy: No, I’d rather have a phone conversation with you.
Operator: I’m not able to do it. I can dispatch another person to assist you.
Boy: Alright.
Operator: What type of math problems are you having trouble with?
Boy: These are my takeaways.
Operator: You must complete the takeaways, I see.
Boy: Certainly
Operator: Okay, so what’s the issue?
Boy: I need your assistance with my math.
Operator: Alright, explain the arithmetic to me.
Boy: Alright. What is 8 minus 16?
Operator: You inform me. How much do you estimate it to be?
Boy: I have no idea, 1.
Operator: Not at all. What is your age?
Boy: I’m just four years old.
Operator: Four!
Boy: Certainly.
Operator: What’s the next issue? That was a difficult one.
Boy: Well, this one’s here. Five things to take away.
Operator: Five minus five, what do you think that is worth?
Boy: five
Female: Johnny What are you doing, exactly?
Boy: I’m getting help with my math from the policeman.
Woman: Did I mention that I was going to call you?
Operator: The mother is here.
Boy: You told me to call someone if I needed assistance.
Woman: The police aren’t who I meant!
My Rich Husband Forbade Me from Entering One Room in Our House – I Could Not Stop Crying When I Saw What He Was Hiding
When Alexis’ parents forced her to marry Robert, she had no idea what she was getting herself into. Later, Alexis broke the one rule her husband gave her and entered the room he warned her about, unleashing secrets she wasn’t prepared for.
I couldn’t understand why my parents wanted me to get married before I found someone myself.
“Alexis,” my mother said, “Robert is a catch. He’s a wealthy man who will take care of you. You wouldn’t even have to work.”
I couldn’t refuse. My father had made it clear.
“You marry Robert, Alexis,” he said, puffing on his cigar. “Or you can figure out your own living arrangements.”
In a sense, Robert was my prince charming. Our family had a bakery, which was losing customers because we had no gluten-free options on the menu.
“We will continue to bake what we know,” my father insisted.
Our marriage was definitely an arranged one. Robert’s demeanor was cold, and he refused to let me get to know him properly. I don’t know how my father arranged our connection.
Our wedding was a spectacle of Robert’s affluence, nothing short of extravagant. Robert’s wedding planner had thought of everything.
My wedding dress was a custom piece that he commissioned for me. But even through our wedding planning, we barely spoke.
“I’m looking forward to being married,” he admitted one evening, a few days before the wedding.
“But I don’t know what I’m doing,” he added.
That was the closest Robert had gotten to letting me in.
Two days after our wedding, I moved into our new home.
“Come, I’ll show you around,” Robert said.
He took me around our home, a mansion boasting luxuries I’d never imagined before: sprawling golf courses, a shimmering swimming pool, and a fleet of staff at our beck and call.
“It’s beautiful,” I said when we got to the kitchen. “Everything is beautiful.”
“Now, Alexis, this house belongs to you too,” he declared with a hint of pride.
I smiled at the stranger standing in front of me. Maybe we were going to make something of our marriage.
“But one thing, Alexis,” he said. “There’s one rule. The attic. Never go in there.”
I nodded at Robert. I couldn’t fathom why I wouldn’t be allowed anywhere in the house. But I also recognized that I didn’t know my husband well enough yet. So, I had to obey.
A few days later, Robert went to a meeting, leaving me alone in our massive home.
Driven by curiosity stronger than any warning, I found myself ascending the stairs to the attic. My heart pounded with a mix of fear and excitement. I knew I didn’t have a lot of time.
A quick in and out, I thought to myself.
Pushing the door open, I was met with a sight that sent me to my knees, tears streaming down my face. I didn’t know why I was crying. I didn’t know why I felt confusion and relief at the same time.
The attic, dimly lit, seemed to be a vault of my husband’s hidden memories. Childhood toys lay scattered, each carrying untold stories. Old postcards and photographs of Robert’s life before me. Among the relics were letters from a young boy to his father, a soldier away at war.
“How dare you come in here? Now, I have to change the locks in my own home because my wife does not respect my requests?”
Robert’s face turned red with rage.
“I just want to understand,” I stammered. “I just want to know you, Robert.”
Slowly, his rage dissolved, and he seemed to see me as a companion in his world, instead of the intruder he had made me out to be.
“Alexis,” he said, “Come, let’s sit.”
Robert led me to the living room.
“My father was a stern man. He was a soldier and he believed in keeping emotions locked away. These are the only things I have of a time when I felt loved,” he confessed.
My heart caught on his every word as his voice broke.
What followed was a revelation of his soul. Stories of a lonely childhood, of a boy yearning for his father’s approval, unfolded in our home.
In those vulnerable moments, I didn’t see the distant, cold man I had married but a boy who had never stopped seeking love and acceptance. He just didn’t know how to go about it.
In those few hours, things changed. Robert started letting me in. And now, years later, our home is filled with the cries and laughter of our daughter, April.
Through our daughter, Robert healed. He healed for himself, and for our daughter.
We’ve packed away everything from the attic, so it is no longer a shrine to Robert’s past but is now my little reading nook.
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